


tongue tied

by starquills



Series: Winterhawk Ficlets [2]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Developing Relationship, Halloween, M/M, trick or treat, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-13 20:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16479476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starquills/pseuds/starquills
Summary: Halloween in Clint Barton’s building is nothing but a treat, as it turns out.





	tongue tied

**Author's Note:**

> This is only my second venture into Winterhawk so feedback is very much appreciated but please be kind! 
> 
> This is pretty much shameless Halloween centric fluff, purely for myself because I wanted to write these boys again.

Clint’s building is good, Bucky’s decided. It’s warm and bright and full of chaos — much like Clint himself is, and it feels as much like home as it can to someone who can’t quite remember the sensation. 

He’s lived there for almost a year, now, with it being decided that it was potentially one of the best possible places to aid his transition back into the real world whilst providing the safety he needed. 

Clint, he supposes, and the people that he surrounds himself with, have become a sort of security that he leans upon enough for it to be helpful, rather than harmful to his progression.

With that being said, however, they leave him to himself most of the time; letting him come to them rather than it being the other way around. Which is perhaps why he’s so confused to find someone knocking rather insistently on his front door at 3pm in the afternoon without any sort of warning. 

Bucky turns off the vacuum that he’s using to clean the floors of his apartment — because Wednesday afternoon is cleaning time, and has been designated as such for almost five months now — and heads to the front door. 

He checks quickly to see who it is through the peephole which somehow has a crack across it, and finds himself letting a sigh of relief out at the distorted image of Clint alone on the other side.

He undoes the lock, and takes off the chain, and opens the door halfway — propping it open with his boot clad foot. 

“Hey,” Clint says, face lighting up with the lopsided, lazy grin that suits him so well.

“Hi,” Bucky responds.

There’s an awkward kind of pause, because this thing — if it can even be classified as a thing — between them is awkward, too. Kind of new and uncertain, nerve-wracking and exciting all at once. 

They’ve kissed three times, and haven’t spoken about it once. But they’ve settled into an easy sort of routine where they’re probably dating (or at least on their way there) and Bucky is strangely okay with it. Clint is still a human disaster, of course, but he’s finding it increasingly endearing which is — well, something. 

In the temporary pause between the two of them, Bucky’s attention is drawn to the hello kitty band-aid that has been haphazardly slapped onto a cut that runs down and through Clint’s eyebrow. 

It’s half peeling off, and Bucky finds himself wanting to smooth it down but hesitating due to not knowing if that’s something he should do or not.

Before he has the chance to ponder over when he started second-guessing the way he acts around Clint (probably someplace around kiss number two), a bag of candy is pulled out of the pocket of the archer’s garishly purple hoodie with a too-loud rustle of thin plastic and is thrust out toward him. 

He glances down at it, brows furrowed, and Clint finally seems to realise that he came to this floor for a reason that he’s yet to explain. 

“It’s Halloween,” He states. As though that’s supposed to mean anything of importance. 

“Happy Halloween?” Bucky tries, but the words don’t fall off his tongue quite right, coming across as a question rather than anything else. 

A hand reaches up to scratch at messy sandy-blond hair, signifying that Clint is feeling somewhat embarrassed or unsure. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but this isn’t really the best neighbourhood around.”

Bucky shrugs, “I’ve lived in worst places.” And Clint’s eyes widen the way they often do, when he’s reminded in such deadpan fashion that the brunet’s life has been far from ideal.

“Right,” he says, nodding just a little too slowly for it to be natural. “But — so, uh.” He pushes the back of treats to Bucky’s chest, forcing him to take a hold of them.

“The kids wanna trick or treat, you know? And I don’t want them to miss out. So we usually just do it in the building, only I realised that you didn’t know that so I didn’t want you to be empty handed when they knock on here. Plus — like, Charlie worked real hard on his Hawkeye costume this year, I’d hate for you to miss out on it and —“

He stops rambling as he’s kissed, firmly but gently. It’s an urge Bucky can’t remember having felt before, but he goes with it regardless; seeming like the right thing to do. “You worry too much,” He says, altogether now much closer to his maybe-almost-boyfriend before him. 

“Did you do that to shut me up?” He asks, fingers twitching as though they’re about to be lifted up and pressed to his lips. 

“Did it work?” He teases, already knowing the answer by way of the steady blush that’s rising to Clint’s cheeks. 

“I mean,” The archer says, and then tilts his head, thinking. “I’m not sure. Guess we’ll have to test it again, one more time. Just to be certain.”

So they do. 

(And Bucky smooths down that dumb band-aid, too. For good measure.)


End file.
